


He's like a male Mary Poppins or some shit

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: OCD Chus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe they won't live happily-ever-after but at least the apartment is clean</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's like a male Mary Poppins or some shit

Chester is, in the nicest sense of the term, a domestic cunt. And even though their star signs probably aren’t compatible and they aren’t soul mates or likely to grow old together, he and Brad are perfect for each other because Brad lives in squalor.

They meet when they’re both drunk. Too many vodka and limes, too many vodka and cokes, too many vodka shots…too much vodka, in general. Brad leans against him at the bar and says, “You’re pretty.”

Chester laughs and recoils just a little. “Thanks,” he says. “Likewise.”

And Brad goes “Do you want to come back to mine?”

And for whatever reason, the vodka or his libido, Chester says yes, and lets Brad lead him out of the club to a cab waiting at the kerb.

They stumble along the hall to Brad’s apartment with their hands down each other’s pants. Chester pushes Brad up against the wall and rolls his hips forward roughly, kissing the other man desperately. They break apart long enough for Brad to open the front door and then Chester jumps him again, backing him up into the apartment and kicking the door shut behind him.

Brad reaches out blindly to turn on a light, his teeth nipping at Chester’s bottom lip as his other hand works at unfastening his belt.

And then Chester stumbles over something. A can or something, which flicks up and hits the wall behind him then lands in a pile of empty beer bottles.

And he opens his eyes.

Brad watches his eyes widen and his mouth drop open and asks, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Dude,” Chester says, trying hard not to laugh, “I’m sorry but what the fuck?”

Fair enough there were plates on the coffee table but the food on them hadn’t gone mouldy yet, so Brad didn’t see the problem. And sure there were cans and bottles all over the place but until he got some recycling system sorted out it seemed like one big environmental sin to clean the place out.

So Chester’s statement gets a blank stare.

“Is this a drug den?” He asks, laughing.

Brad turns, offended, and folds his arms across his chest. “Shut the fuck up. I’m sorry if it isn’t good enough for you, Mr Holier Than Thou.”

“I ain’t holier than you I’m just cleaner. Do you have a bag or something?”

Brad doesn’t get any that night. He stumbles drunkenly into the bedroom and falls asleep to the sounds of Chester cleaning his apartment.

“Maybe you have obsessive compulsive disorder.” Brad says when Chester opens the door wearing elbow length marigolds and an apron for the third day in a row.

He smiles, bright eyed and rosy cheeked. “Maybe I just don’t like to act out the life of a homeless person. You’re one step from just living on a park bench, Brad.” He says and disappears inside, pulling off the marigolds and dropping them in the sink.

“Fucking hell what is that fucking smell?”

“Ammonia.” Chester says and empties a bucket down the drain. “I’ve been cleaning the grout between the tiles.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Now I am. Probably a side effect of the ammonia.” He unties the apron and hangs it on the back of the kitchen door, runs a hand through his hair and smiles. “We going, or what?”

“You smell like drain cleaner.”

“You’re taking me to an all you can eat buffet. It’s not exactly the height of dining or anything.”

Brad rolls his eyes.

They’ve been dating for a few months now and every weekend Chester comes over to clean Brad’s apartment. In exchange he gets a blowjob. Or a rimjob, if he wants. Which is as good a payment as any.

And maybe they’re not made for each other. Maybe they’ll never get married.

But at least Brad’s apartment is clean.


End file.
